Depression Poems
My Flaws And All
by Mishack Madubandlela
Even if we both break down tonight
I know everything will be alright
I've made a lot of mistakes
Thinking maybe I should pack my keepsakes
Even when we fight and I tell you I'd be better alone
But you know that's not true
That's the pride talking
I always have a point to prove
But that's just my mind talking
......
Hard Times
by Gregory Mundy
Have you ever felt like the whole world was on your shoulders?
Like everyone was out to get you and trying to run you over?
No matter what you do, it always turns out wrong.
Everything around you keeps falling as you try desperately to hold on.
Everybody seems to be going up, while you keep heading down.
Everyone has something to smile about, while you wear a frown.
They all seem to be doing well and climbing up to the top.
......
Bathroom Stall
by Honestly Sad
I just sat in a bathroom stall
Staring blankly at the wall
I should have been in class
Instead of looking for shards of glass
Really want to slit my wrists
Have a ball point pen clenched in my fists
I draw on my skin
To keep from peeling it open
Because the pain within
Is better left unspoken
......
questions
by gabriella BlakeThese songs used to make me cry. I’d listen to cry. To feel. They’ve lost that effect. They’ve taken all my tears. Do you ever listen? Do you ever cry. Do you associate me and us with those songs. Do certain moment replay in your head. Do you freeze, do you break, do you burn. Or have you paved over those memories with new ones. Do you change the station, or listen, to feel. Or has the numbness kept you silent, sitting with a straight face, without a second thought.
Continue readingUntil the Music Spots
by Brendon Hall
Strolling in the evergreen park so slow
Head sinking to the speckled concrete
The cracks mirroring a broken sentiment
Press play and a sweet song blares
Then the black veil lifts ever so slightly
The feeling unsustainable yet welcomed
Vibrations echoing deep through each fiber of being
Melancholy holds no sway in this domain
The beat builds as runners pass by in cardiac bliss
......
Public Clocks
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
At first his anger was hotter than July
Or, rather, he was plundered by the weight of
Sorrow —heavier than the ice of January;
The kind of stolid ice that thickened Niagara Falls
Like frozen soup.
He was tall and lissome, bespectacled, in
Dark suits, a brown hat, worn-out shoes of fraternity.
A folded umbrella accompanied him like a touring child.
No wristwatch.
He doesn’t wear them.
......
97. Just Waiting
by Kea Campbell
Paranoia that resides and confines.
The truth knows nothing of your breath.
Not a thought left unsaid.
No hush— unfiltered; obsessed.
Haste to red— embodiment of embarrassment.
Conductor of my mental state.
A flaw of mine I so much hate.
Temper-less parades.
I have yet to find my escape.
......
93. So, Defeating
by Kea Campbell
Fingers rest at F and J and the keys ask, “How are you?”
My hands are speechless… “I’m okay, just feeling out of tune.”
Tired eyes from trauma and headaches from national news,
Unable to side with the hypocrite Demis or self-centered men in blue suits.
Pardon my pessimism, but the present is all too intense.
I empathize with the 15.4 million and contemplate the 49 thousand.
What a shame of how difficult it is to find a true friend,
But I reap what I sow, considering I no longer make an attempt.
Don’t get the wrong idea if I can’t find any more of me to give.
......
Resignation
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
As the hours stretch slowly and with
Sloth’s irredeemable tempo,
The earth, lacking appetite, nibbles at her meals
Which roll upon the fulcrum of the grand star
And discerns all inclinations
Towards us brittle souls —
Souls which peregrinate
On circles of death
And life . . .
......
86. Trying
by Kea Campbell
Stumbling through the door at 1 a.m., not drunk, just sleepless's bite.
My house is clouded with fog, and I return at the latest times of night.
I long for peace, careful not to make eye contact with Death.
I cry for the coach to save me from my straits, while I rise and pine to the scant love for life that's left.
The air thickens, and tensions cut my wrists.
My days expand, and I sleep without rest.
The world weighs on my chest, with past wars documented on my flesh.
Disordered mentality is cinched around my neck, but the stool I stand on is breaded with red.
......
